


Visceral Appeal

by OpalizedFossil



Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: F/F, Gem Egg Hell, Gemsonas - Freeform, Original Character(s), Sex, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 23:15:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10684911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpalizedFossil/pseuds/OpalizedFossil
Summary: Nothing is fair in love and war.





	Visceral Appeal

**Author's Note:**

> A highly requested gemsona story from Tumblr. Currently, I'm on hiatus over there, so it's being posted here beforehand! Enjoy!
> 
> Disclaimer: This fic contains potentially upsetting content, including graphic violence, character death, sexual content, and infanticide. Please read with caution.
> 
> P.S. This thing is like thirty pages long, in case you were wondering.

Dragon Blood Jasper is frustrated.

It has been an impressive eight thousand years since she first emerged from her exit hole, on a faraway colony now long destroyed, slowly ripped apart by Homeworld's continued use of it, until it ceased to be altogether.

War after war has been waged since then, and she has been there for them all. Colonies in rebellion, planets with native races reluctant to turn their resources over to Homeworld's greater power, conflicts of such vast variety that she seldom remembers the details of them at all. It wasn't in her nature to be involved in the politics of war; she existed only for the fighting.

And fight, she did. She fought so well that she was named a general early on, and she has since become one of the most renowned soldiers to ever fight for Homeworld. Her status came with power, power enough to have her own private quarters upstairs, where the elites and aristocrats lived in a world all their own, with luxuries unknown to the petty working class, and power enough to have her own pearl, a perky, young thing of the bright red variety, as meek and mild as she was pretty. While the other quartzes wallowed in self-pity beneath the thumb of a well-equipped agate, she is free to come and go as she pleases, completely beyond their control.

But, in spite of it all, she doesn't have the thing she wants the most.

Eight thousand is impressive for any gem, but especially for a quartz. Quartzes are soldiers, cannon fodder, common laborers intended to guard and fight. Quartzes are very necessary to the success of a Homeworld colony - but, they're also embarrassingly disposable. A quartz shattered on the battlefield will be mourned only by her peers, and will be easily replaced with the next batch of soldiers cultivated from a new Kindergarten. This is a reality not only for quartzes, but for most varieties of gem currently residing on Homeworld. This is the silent threat that keeps them in constant order, keeps them moving along at their jobs that they don't necessarily enjoy, keeps them under control. If you're more trouble than you're worth, you can be replaced.

Dragon has eluded her expiration date for longer than even she expected. She suspects it's because she's more valuable than the average quartz, with her immense size, otherworldly strength, and continued success in winning the occasional war for Homeworld. Other quartzes could be made, but her centuries of experience couldn't be cultivated so easily; a general like her is respected, even by the Diamonds.

Still, Dragon is old, a little outdated. It's been centuries since she last encountered another dragon blood jasper, and she suspects that the gem type has been out of production for at least a few thousand years now. Homeworld has come up with newer, fresher varieties of quartzes, soldiers who are more compact but equally strong, gems that can be manufactured from fewer resources. When Dragon sits alone in her private quarters at night, with only her pearl to keep her company, she believes in her heart of hearts that her time is drawing near. On Homeworld, no one is ever truly untouchable. Not even an experienced old general like herself.

But, Dragon doesn't want to be shattered and left without a trace, with only her broken shards to remember her. She might have made history, but history is seldom passed along on Homeworld. There might be some mention of her written in the ancient texts that are stashed away downstairs, where the working class lives, but no one ever reads the texts now. It isn't the memory that Dragon wants to leave behind for herself; no, she needs someone who will pass on the spoken word, not the written word, of who she was, of what she did.

She needs an heir.

But to have an heir on Homeworld is no easy feat now. Kindergartens and other production methods are now so commonplace that manual, old-world reproduction is increasingly uncommon - and increasingly frowned upon. There is no need for modern gems to find mates, to pin them down and rut them the way the old-world gems did, to impregnate them and leave behind their own traces in the form of fresh, new gems.

Still, Dragon is determined. She will have an heir. But, first, she has to find a mate - and that, too, is no easy feat.

* * *

General Bloodstone watches over her trainees in the arena, overseeing their exercise regime and friendly spars.

The new arena is even better than she had hoped. It's three times the size of the old one, located four floors higher in the central tower, equipped with twice the training weapons, weights, and other supplies that she needed in order to train her troops effectively. Already, her new trainees, three months fresh from the Kindergarten, are making great progress.

As Bloodstone stands there and watches the young quartzes, someone else watches her. She senses eyes on her, but she doesn't turn around; it isn't uncommon for there to be spectators. Sometimes, they're only elites, from the upstairs world, come down to witness firsthand the fearsome brutality of the quartzes, pointing at trainees slamming into and slinging weapons at one another, crashing against each other with enough force to shake the entire arena, gawking at their size and strength and complete and utter lack of sophistication. It's humiliating, certainly, but Bloodstone prefers it to the other option: the agate.

General Bloodstone is as proud as a quartz comes. She's two thousand years old and already a general, awarded her title mere months after she emerged from the Kindergarten, into a colony stricken with rebellion and conflict, from gems questioning their status as disposable fodder for the Diamonds to do as they pleased with. Bloodstone had been alive and aware for less than a month when her commanding officer fell victim to one of their attacks. From there, the stories say, she took over and led them to victory as if by instinct alone. She is a natural-born leader and an even better warrior, now renowned across Homeworld as the next big thing on the combat scene. Surely, she should be above the agates.

But, she isn't. She is as susceptible to the agates - the terrifying, terrible agates - as every other quartz and, twice, she has been beaten into submission for no reason other than their twisted pleasure. She has been involved in three conflicts on interstellar colonies since her birth, and the agates are still the most sadistic and needlessly cruel thing she has ever bore witness to.

The aristocrats, with their staring eyes, gaping mouths, and pointing fingers, are humiliating. But, Bloodstone would much, much rather them than the agate.

Whoever it is, Bloodstone senses that they're not as interested in the trainees as they are in her. She feels someone's piercing gaze sweeping down her backside, taking in the sight of her, watching her with unprecedented intentness.

Then, that someone clears their throat and she swivels around, realizing that it's neither the aristocrats nor the agate.

It's the General Dragon Blood Jasper.

"G - General," Bloodstone addresses her, embarrassed at her own shocked stutter. She might be a general, but she might as well be a sniveling, newborn trainee in the presence of the legendary Dragon Blood Jasper. This quartz is more than one of the great generals; she's a legend.

Bloodstone sees a twinkle in those dark, red eyes, something knowing and playful. Then, Dragon's lips twist up into a gnarled, lopsided grin, around two saber teeth too large for her mouth, and she chuckles, "Hello, General."

To be addressed as a fellow officer by this quartz is something of a shock to Bloodstone, but it is a pleasant one. She salutes her respectfully, then asks, "To what do I owe the honor?"

Dragon's terrifying, cheshire grin softens into a sickle-shaped smile. "General, at ease. There's no need for so much formality."

Bloodstone sees how the quartz's eyes sweep over her, slowly and critically, before settling piercingly on her chiseled face. Few quartzes have the capacity to make her feel small; she's a staggering fourteen feet tall, after all, and a wall of solid muscle wider than some door frames. But, however big she is, Dragon is bigger. Substantially bigger. Perhaps a solid two or three feet bigger, Bloodstone realizes with a start as she stands in the monumental soldier's shadow, gazing up at her in what must be awe-inspired envy, before she finally catches herself staring and timidly glances away.

Dragon doesn't miss Bloodstone's awed stare. She doesn't miss anything. She grins delightedly, lips spreading again over those huge, protruding fangs, curving upwards towards her green gem, where it sits in the center of her face in the place of a broad, flat nose, glinting softly in the glaringly bright lights of the training arena, dappled darker green and red around its smooth, rounded edges. "They're making some mighty fine quartzes these days, it would seem."

Bloodstone looks over her shoulder at her trainees, who are staring at them timidly from afar, her own feelings of envy and awe reflected in their faces, still round and smooth with newness and youth. "Oh! Yes, ma'am, my trainees are the newest, finest - "

"Not them," Dragon interrupts her, to which Bloodstone timidly glances back at her, silently asking what she means. The larger of the quartzes rumbles with a deep, throaty laughter, and the entire arena seems to tremble in its wake. "You, General. You are a mighty fine quartz."

Bloodstone feels herself blush, feels her dark features heat up, but it's invisible on her rough, green hide. "I'm...flattered, ma'am."

Again, Dragon smirks. Bloodstone never recalls seeing her smile in the portraits and paintings and photos she's seen of her, or on the few occasions when she's glimpsed her from afar at important military meetings, always from across the dense crowds of other commanders and generals and miscellaneous war officials. But now, that sideways grin seems omnipresent. "Ma'am? Please, call me Drag."

"Drag?" Bloodstone prompts, with an exaggerated arch of one bushy brow.

"Dragon Blood Jasper is such a mouthful, isn't it?" the larger quartz replies, "Just Drag suits me fine."

Bloodstone crosses her burly arms across her even burlier chest and laughs. It's as deep and rumbly as any quartz's laugh might be, but it doesn't shake the room the way Dragon's had. "Alright, Drag, what can I do for you?"

Dragon shrugs her huge shoulders. Bloodstone can't resist giving them a quick glimpse; Dragon is even thicker and burlier than she is, and surely she's stronger and wiser, too, a superior soldier in every sense. It humbles her to be in the presence of such a phenomenal power. "I don't know, General. What can you do for me?"

Bloodstone has seen her share of flirting in her time, but the Great General Dragon is the last place she expects it to come from. She's flattered and, more so, she finds that she likes it. "Oh, I could show you around the new arena, maybe. You know, this is the new one, the one the bismuths finished just last week."

"An arena? I've seen hundreds of 'em," Dragon replies, smirking softly. It isn't that gaping, sideways grin anymore; it's something softer, warmer, more welcoming. Something that inspires a creeping warmth in Bloodstone's belly, rather than a respectful curdle of fear. She likes that, too.

"Oh, not impressed with my arena? What about my troops, then?" Bloodstone asks as she turns to face them, shouting, "Break time's over! Back to work!"

Dragon hears in her voice the same roaring ferocity she knows is in her own. Immediately, the trainees scatter, lunging for plastic practice weapons and lifting weights off the floor, still shiny and smooth in its newness, not yet scuffed by the trampling of a thousand sparring quartz feet.

"Your troops? Oh, I know from the stories that you train fine troops. Some of the finest on Homeworld and all its colonies, they say," Dragon tells her, "And I trust that these will be no different. They seem to listen to you well enough, after all."

Bloodstone glances at her over her shoulder, making a show of playing coy, batting her thick lashes beneath eyelids rimmed in dark red, the color of blood. Dragon doesn't miss that teasing twinkle in her eyes, their irises a deep, dark brown flecked with hazel. She's beautiful. "Stories?"

"Oh, yes, the stories," Dragon chuckles as she comes to stand beside her, arms crossed behind her back in the typical stance of a commanding officer, "You should hear the stories I've heard, General. Word is that you're the new rising star on the military front. Heard about that stunt you pulled back on X-9, that throwaway colony where the rebellion happened."

Bloodstone looks a little sheepish. "You did?"

"Yes, I did," Dragon replies, "and I'm impressed."

This surprises her. Bloodstone looks at her, scarcely concealing her surprise at such high praise. "You...are?"

"Oh, yes," Dragon chuckles, "I'm very impressed with you, Bloodstone."

To this, Bloodstone can only sheepishly blush.

* * *

Dragon's visits to the arena become more and more regular over the next few months. Initially, Bloodstone is reluctantly willing to believe that she's there to survey her troops or to inspect the new arena. Once, the thought occurs to her that Dragon might have been sent by her superiors, to survey her progress and report back to them. She briefly wonders if she's in trouble. But, the more Dragon visits, the more it becomes apparent.

Dragon is there to visit her.

Bloodstone likes the idea of this as much as she likes Dragon herself. Dragon is a military legend, a great general, an idol to every young, foolhardy quartz born from a Kindergarten. To have her here, in the flesh, is such an unspeakable honor that it makes her a little giddy every single time she turns around and sees her sauntering into the arena, with that typical, quartz swagger, even when it's become a nearly daily occurrence. Bloodstone isn't the only one enthralled by her presence; each entrance she makes is greeted with silence from her two hundred trainees, who all stop and stare in awe and wonder.

When Dragon doesn't visit, Bloodstone mopes. She paces back and forth, she huffs like an irritated animal, and she yells at any young soldier bold enough to ask her what's wrong.

But, when Dragon does visit, she's giddy.

Today, Dragon strolls in and saunters up to her, swinging an arm around her shoulders. "Afternoon, sweetheart," she practically croons, "How's my favorite soldier?"

Bloodstone giggles - giggles like a lovesick pearl lusting for her aristocratic mistress, not like a proud, stoic general that was only two thousand and had already won three wars. "Hello, Drag."

"You miss me yesterday?" Dragon wonders, but she already knows the answer.

"Maybe," Bloodstone teases, "You come to watch them train?"

"Nope," Dragon chuckles. To Bloodstone's dismay, she removes her arm from around her shoulders as she saunters over to where the trainees have, as always, stopped to stare, spreading like overgrown grass around her as she walks through them and gathers up a training target and a dozen flimsy spears, before she makes her way back to Bloodstone.

Dragon sets the target down, mounted on its metallic base, then offers her one of the spears.

Bloodstone stares at her in confusion, but takes it. "What's this for?"

"Since I'm around so much, thought I might show you a thing or two," Dragon tells her as she tosses the other spears in a scattered pile between them, keeping one for herself. Had Bloodstone had a heart, it would have skipped a beat. A training lesson from the Great General Dragon? It's an honor few quartzes have ever known, mostly only trainees like her own from the short time before Dragon had become a renowned officer. 

Bloodstone watches in awe - and pointedly steps to one side - as Dragon walks a hundred feet back from the target, aims with one calf tensed behind her and one arm raised high over her head, and launches the flimsy spear directly into its red center.

From across the arena, Dragon calls, "C'mon, Bloody! Your turn!"

Delighted, Bloodstone walks to where Dragon stands, tries to replicate the stance she saw moments before, and hurls the practice spear at the target. It comes up short, skittering across the polished floor instead, to land at the base of the target dejectedly.

Bloodstone feels embarrassed. She should have hit that.

Dragon fetches her another throwing spear. "C'mon, sweetheart. Try again."

Bloodstone's second spear hits the target, pleasingly close to Dragon's own mark, only a few inches beneath it. When she looks to her for approval and praise, Dragon is smiling at her almost tenderly, if such a thing is possible from such an inherently terrifying face. "Good job," she tells her, and Bloodstone has to resist a shudder. Like more quartzes, she's a glutton for praise, and any compliment from Dragon is very, very high praise.

Dragon practices with her for a few more rounds, with the impressive majority of Bloodstone's throws landing within inches of her own. She learns quickly. Dragon doesn't doubt that she can teach her a great deal in their time together - but, right now, she wants to show off.

"You might wanna step back a bit, doll," Dragon chuckles as she reaches for her weapon, a glinting javelin that comes surging out of her gem in a motion that, thanks to its location in the center of her face, is unexpectedly comical. Bloodstone steps away, and that's when she starts to smell the noxious fumes that seethe from between Dragon's saber teeth, slipping free from her lips in clear clouds of unseen gas. Then, with a loud crack of her wicked teeth, the gas ignites and from Dragon's open mouth comes a red-orange blaze, crackling and popping as she exhales flame down the length of her javelin, until it, too, is ignited.

Flaming, the javelin whistles across the arena and pierces the target, where it splits the length of the practice spear Dragon previously threw, with so much brute force that the entire thing goes to pieces, scattering across the polished tiles in blackened embers and smoking shards of metal and wood.

The arena is silent. Bloodstone is in awe. The trainees are in awe.

Dragon laughs - that thunderous roar of a sound - and throws an arm around Bloodstone's shoulders again, bringing her in closer than expected. "So, what do you think? Am I everything the stories crack me up to be?"

Bloodstone scoffs. "You're everything and more."

Chuckling, Dragon asks, "Think you'll be as good as me someday?"

"Impossible," Bloodstone giggles, gazing up at her, doe-eyed and adoring. Again with the giggles. She should be disappointed in herself, but strangely enough, she isn't. She can't even find it within herself to feel embarrassed in that moment. She only feels happy.

"You will be, Bloody," Dragon tells her and, in her eyes, reflected in their red irises and dark sclera, Bloodstone sees what she thinks is a glimpse of her own affection, "Oh, you will be."

* * *

Dragon leaves a few hours after her stunt with the flaming javelin. Bloodstone is starry-eyed even as she summons a pearl to clean up the enormous mess Dragon made, the dainty little gem chasing clumps of embers and burnt wood shards across the tiles with a broom, the pristine tiles now marred with black ash, which the pearl is quick to mop away once she's swept up.

Bloodstone watches over her trainees for the rest of the day with her arms behind her back, rocking gently on her heels, very obviously lost in a fantasy and paying exceedingly little attention to her troops, acknowledging them only when one of them comes up to her with a question or to report that they've broken something, a common incident.

Among the trainees who come up to her that evening is a carnelian. She stands out to Bloodstone not only because she's a carnelian, an increasingly rare quartz strain, but because she's an excellent student. One of her best, in fact. She's young and strong and quick-minded. Bloodstone doesn't doubt that she'll be a fine soldier someday; in fact, she's been strongly considering promoting the carnelian.

The carnelian also stands out to her because she's observant and honest and often notices things that, while she would never admit it, Bloodstone doesn't notice herself. A skill like that is invaluable on the battlefield. But, today, it's only annoying.

Bloodstone senses that something is amiss as soon as Carnelian approaches her, fumbling her fingers anxiously, her head held a little low. She's carrying herself submissively, a little awkwardly, like she's about to confess to doing something wrong. Bloodstone expects that she's broken something until Carnelian unexpectedly glances at the smoldering remains of the training target that the pearl is still cleaning up and says, "That was a little much, wasn't it?"

Bloodstone didn't expect this. "What do you mean, soldier?"

"I mean, I know she's the General Dragon Blood Jasper and she's important and respected and...," Carnelian trails off, gathers her nerves, and stands up straighter as she addresses Bloodstone, "I don't think she should be making such a mess when we have to deal with the consequences."

Bloodstone is surprised. She hides it for a moment, then lets her hard features crease into a stern frown, beneath narrowed eyes and a thick, furrowed brow. She points a finger in Carnelian's face accusingly and, when she speaks, her voice is venomous. "You have no right to be saying what she should and shouldn't be doing. Back to your exercises, soldier! You ought to learn to keep your mouth shut!"

Carnelian stares at her hard, then retreats to the relative safety of her ranks with the other trainees, scooping up a foam-and-wood axe as she rejoins the other quartzes in their sparring. Occasionally, she glances back at Bloodstone, seeing only contempt on her face, the good mood that Dragon's visit had inspired suddenly soured. Something about the entire situation feels very, very off to the young quartz.

From where the pearl scrubs determinedly at the tiles, the ash stains refuse to come away from the smooth, silver linoleum. When she has been there an hour with no success, she rinses the suds, dries the tiles, and retreats with her bucket of water to where the on-duty agate stands watchfully by the doorway.

Carnelian sees the pearl, trembling slightly, bow to the intimidating agate, then say something she cannot hear from afar. The agate stoops down, hands behind her back, and listens intently to what the pearl has to say, then dismisses her with a sideways clap of her hands.

And then, Carnelian watches her reach to her chest to withdraw her whip, crackling vibrantly with electricity, and silently approach Bloodstone.

She flinches and tries her best to look away when she hears the lashing begin.

* * *

Something is wrong.

Dragon knows it as soon as she enters the arena the following evening. She's later than usual, because she was caught up in her own business upstairs, so she's come with a bouquet of artificial flowers crafted from metal wires for her beloved Bloodstone, as an apology for keeping her waiting.

When she comes in, it's quieter than usual. Bloodstone's back is to her, as it usually is, but today, she doesn't turn around to welcome her with a coy smile and flirtatious bat of her lashes. Today, she stands as still as a statue, and the trainees watch her not with awe, but with tension so thick that it's practically palpable.

"Sweetheart...?" Dragon calls from behind her.

Bloodstone tenses, then slowly, shamefully, turns towards her.

One of her eyes - usually bright, now hauntingly dull - is swollen almost closed beneath its bushy eyebrow. Even through the rich, red hue of the skin around her eyes, the bruises are visible, deep and dark and clearly painful. Her nose is crooked in the center of her pretty face. There's a slice through her upper lip, gaping wide, suggesting that it was split straight open on some hard surface. Besides her face, there are bruises scattered across her neck and shoulders. There are also burns - from an electric agate whip.

Dragon stares at her. Ultimately, although she is revered and respected in a way that many aren't, she is a quartz, and so her first reaction is pity, her eyebrows turning downward sadly as she surveys the lingering carnage scripted on her sweetheart's face and slumping shoulders. But, then, she feels the unfiltered rage bubbling up within her and tastes the noxious fumes rising up from her depths to sit hot and heavy on her tongue, seeping out between her saber teeth as she sweeps Bloodstone into her arms.

"Who did this?" Dragon demands, with as much acid in her voice as there is on her breath, the gas hanging heavily between them as she leans down to peer furiously into Bloodstone's frightened eyes.

"T - The agate," Bloodstone stutters, coughing slightly as she inhales the terrible odor of Dragon's smoky breath, waving it away, "She b - beat me because of the burns on the floor. She said this arena's too new for us to be making such a mess of it."

Dragon feels a sharp stab of guilt. Bloodstone was beaten over something she was responsible for. She squeezes her a little tighter, mindful of her bruises and sores, and offers her the metal flowers she still holds, the twisted stems slightly warped from the angry grip she had had on them.

Bloodstone takes them more gently than she's ever taken anything, trying to smile, but wincing when it sends shockwaves through her split upper lip. "T - Thank you..."

Dragon glares, but not at her. "Which agate?"

Bloodstone indicates her, the purple agate stationed dutifully by the doorway, eying them warily from afar.

She tries to tell herself that she doesn't enjoy standing there, cradling the metallic bouquet to her chest like a newborn gemling, and watching as Dragon pummels the miserable agate into the arena floor, this time staining the silvery tiles not with ashes, but with thick, violet blood. But she does.

* * *

Dragon's private quarters - private quarters, not a cramped cubby in a crowded room! - are as impressive as she is, with a front room lit dim from shaded lanterns and a luxurious, leather sofa and, beyond it, a smaller chamber where an enormous bed suitable for such a phenomenal gem looms beneath the shadow of a satin canopy. Clearly, she has expensive tastes.

Unfortunately, Bloodstone is too rattled to completely enjoy it right now. Were her nerves not a frazzled mess at the moment, she might have been in awe of the elegant simplicity of the place, something she hadn't expected of Dragon, or the fact that she is, for the first time in her two thousand years, upstairs. This is where the elites and the aristocrats and the Diamonds live. Not quartzes. At least, not quartzes like her. Perhaps quartzes like Dragon.

"The agates will come after you," Bloodstone worries aloud, as she studies the one entire wall of the front room that is covered in Dragon's awards and medals, glinting golden and shiny in the low lighting. After the initial rush of Dragon pummeling the purple agate into the floor had faded, she had become anxious about the consequences of such an action.

But, Dragon only laughs. "The agates can't touch me. And now, they can't touch you, either. Because they know what will happen if they do."

Bloodstone seems doubtful, but Dragon reassures her with a gentle squeeze, ever mindful of her bruises. She tilts her chin up with one huge finger, clucking her tongue as she rolls a fingertip over Bloodstone's split lip. "I can't believe she busted my baby's lip."

"I can't believe you busted her skull," Bloodstone croaks, laughing hoarsely through her anxiety, "I thought you were going to shatter her."

"Like she was worth the trouble," Dragon retorts, then twines her arms around her sweetheart's waist and rests her chin on her shoulder from behind, stooping down slightly to do so. She sways with her slightly, enjoying the silky softness of her hair brushing against her rough cheek. She smells good, in a musky, quartz sort of way.

Dragon notices her eying a gold medal and rights herself, reaching overhead to retrieve it from where it's hanging on two thumbtacks on the wall, bringing it down to their level and holding it in front of her face from behind her. "Yellow Diamond gave this to me. For bravery, she said. For brutality, really."

Bloodstone admires it. "It's lovely."

"It's yours," Dragon whispers as she raises it over her head, then lowers it around her neck, smiling tenderly as the red ribbon settles around her gem, the golden medallion hanging heavily between her breasts, "For your bravery. For your brutality."

"Oh, Drag, I couldn't...," Bloodstone resists as she tries to remove the medal, but Dragon stops her by covering both of her hands with her much larger and more calloused ones. The two of them look into each other's eyes, exchange a glance and knowing smiles, Dragon's much toothier.

And then, Dragon kisses her. Her lips are chapped and rough and her breath smells thickly of smoke, but the smell is strangely pleasant, not like the noxious odor of the fumes she sometimes exhales. She's warm - hot, even. Bloodstone is rough, too, but not as rough as Dragon; compared to the grizzled old veteran, she is still soft and tender and new. Her lips taste coppery from blood and the kiss causes her cut to ache, but she can't resist it. It's worth the pain.

"I love you," Bloodstone tells her as Dragon pulls away.

Dragon smiles down at her and nods. "I love you, too."

Bloodstone is too sore to mate, but she still stays the night. She doesn't sleep, because such a lazy thing on Homeworld is considered to be taboo, but she lays very comfortably beside Dragon on her very, very large bed. Dragon massages soreness from her battered muscles, touches her teasingly along her hips and sides, and tells her all the sweet nothings she longs to hear. She tells her war stories, too, and Bloodstone tells her her own.

After awhile, Dragon's pearl patters quietly into the chamber and bows to them, before she climbs onto the foot of the bed and sits right there with them, listening intently to their warrior's tales. Dragon tells Bloodstone that the pearl's name is Red, and warns her that she's a mischievous little thing with a mind of her own and her own little room that branches off from the front chamber (because she's a spoiled brat, Dragon laughs).

The three of them sit there and share stories and smile and laugh and, for once, all seems wonderfully, beautifully at peace on Homeworld.

* * *

Bloodstone visits Dragon's private quarters quite frequently after her first venture there - usually only to cuddle quietly and swap war stories.

Tonight, Dragon has other ideas.

Bloodstone exhales unsteadily as she weaves her arms around Dragon's enormous torso, blunt nails digging excitedly into the weathered muscle, her ankles hooked around her waist. Dragon exhales, too, in a breathless moan that smells like smoke.

Dragon's erection is buried to the hilt in her soft, silken inner walls, pulsating slightly around her generous length with the intensity of her arousal. Bloodstone has had sex before, of course, with many young quartzes in her three wars, but she has never felt so completely and utterly full. She had felt like she might burst at first, until Dragon started to move and sent her into a moaning, panting, pleasured frenzy. Dragon had hesitated only long enough to ask her if she was okay and, when she had reassured her that she was, had resumed her rough and heady pace.

Now, the two of them are on round three and not even close to tired. The mahogany bed frame lurches with every mighty thrust of Dragon's enormous hips, sending spiraling jolts of pleasure coiling up Bloodstone's spine, ripping moans from her plump lips, bruised from two dozen rough kisses. The entire room smells like the smoke of Dragon's breath and the sharp, hot smell of sex. The sheets are splattered and smeared with their fair share of semen and fluids, Bloodstone now so wet that she squelches slightly with every feverish thrust.

Moaning, Bloodstone comes undone for the fourth time. She expects Dragon to carry on thrusting, but she stops, savoring the sensation of her sweetheart's inner walls constricting tightly around her, twitching and pulsing, before she finally pulls away.

Then, she thrusts her swollen cock, as exaggeratedly large as the rest of her, into her face. "Suck me, please," she pants softly, practically pleading, and Bloodstone can't resist, the thick erection gliding smoothly between her plump, damp lips to be engulfed in the lush warmth of her mouth, encircled by her clever little tongue.

"Fuck, Bloody," Dragon moans as she clutches the headboard with one hand, and Bloodstone's newly formed dreadlocks with the other. Bloodstone had had smooth, straight hair since their first meeting, but, following the agate attack, it had soon become obvious that she needed to reform. When she reemerged from her gem, she had dreadlocks. Dragon thinks they're as lovely as her straight hair ever was, perhaps even more so. The fact that they're an excellent handhold during intimate encounters is an added bonus.

Bloodstone starts a little slow, slurping softly as she moves her head to and fro, her big, brown eyes gleaming teasingly up at her lover as she massages her every fleshy bump and bulging vein with the very tip of her tongue. But, Dragon clutches her hair, thrusts into her mouth, and starts to fuck her right in the face and, soon, she's slurping louder, moving willingly faster, a moan surging up from her throat and rattling pleasurably around the cock buried in her mouth.

Dragon's erection comes free from her lips with a comical pop at exactly the wrong moment, thick, hot semen splattering wetly across the bridge of her nose and the flushed skin of her cheeks, dripping down her saliva-wet lips and her chin and onto the golden medal glinting proudly from her chest.

Dragon holds onto her hair as she comes down from her orgasmic high, then looks down at her and both of them erupt into thunderous laughter. Dragon flops down, bringing Bloodstone with her, and smothers her with a kiss, tasting crisp sweat and the sharp tang of her own semen. The two of them kiss and kiss and kiss and, again, all seems well in their small world.

Unfortunately, the world is much larger than the kisses they quietly share in their bedroom and, elsewhere, something much greater than the two of them is stirring.

* * *

For one thousand wonderful years, Dragon Blood Jasper and Bloodstone live peacefully together.

Much happens in this time. There is a new colony, on a promising place called earth. There is a new Diamond. Such things are to be celebrated, and so the Diamond Authority arranges for a rare treat for all of their citizens, from the grandest, greatest general to the most insignificant pearl.

A festival. A place for rare relaxation. A place for shows of strength and speed and smarts. A place for competitions in which one could hope to impress the Diamonds themselves. Yellow Diamond is there. Blue Diamond is there. Pink Diamond - the grand new empress - is there. (White Diamond is absent, but she always is, and so no one is even slightly surprised.)

Bloodstone and Dragon are both invited. Renowned generals such as themselves are among the main attractions at such events. The Diamonds want to admire their trophies, want to see what their best soldiers and finest thinkers are capable of.

A grand new arena is constructed for the festival, a gift from the bismuths to the Diamonds. First, the pearls and other pretty little gems put on shows for them, dancing and singing and entertaining in the ways only pearls can. Next, the thinkers outwit one another in tests of mental fortitude. Finally, it's time for the quartz competitions, all elaborate expressions of strength, designed to determine who truly is the best.

Dragon has been around long enough to have participated in such a thing before. Multiple times, in fact. And she has always won. She has always been the best.

But, today, things are to change. She puts on her usual show of exhaling gas, snapping her teeth together to produce the spark that ignites it in an awe-inspiring array of color and flame, and breathing fire along the length of her javelin before she launches it directly into the center of a target. The audience watches, cheers, applauds her as they always have.

Bloodstone comes after her, equipped with her own metallic throwing spear. She can't breathe fire like Dragon, but she doesn't have to; she throws the spear, the way her mate has shown her, and launches it into the target, splitting Dragon's javelin down the center of its shaft, until the weapon whispers away in glimmers of white light. The audience is wild with cheers. Pink Diamond loudly applauds, laughing delightedly.

Bloodstone looks to Dragon, smiling broadly, for her approval. She expects to see on her face joy and pride, relishing in her mate's success as much as the audience is. Instead, she sees her longtime lover gazing enviously at the clapping crowds, something solemn and sad in her red-eyed gaze. Then, she looks at Bloodstone.

For a moment, Bloodstone thinks she sees contempt there in the red irises of her eyes, before Dragon turns away and hustles out of the arena.

From behind her, Bloodstone can hear the Diamonds, mumbling amongst themselves. There is a murmur of agreement.

Dragon is old, outdated, past her expiration date.

* * *

From there, things only get worse. Bloodstone often arrives home from her work in the arena to find Dragon seated on the sofa in the front room, Red tinkering soothingly with her unruly hair as she gazes mournfully, longingly, at her wall of medals. Across from it, Bloodstone has her own wall now, decorated with her own awards. She never realized that, in time, it had become even more infinite than Dragon's.

Occasionally, she sees that flash of resentment in Dragon's eyes. It strikes a cold, hard fear into her heart, one that she seeks to cuddle away in her mate's barrel chest late at night. Dragon swoops an arm around her, draws her in close, and smiles, but, still, there's that cold look in her red eyes.

Bloodstone asks her one night, "Do you still love me, Drag?"

Dragon scoffs. "Of course I still love you! I'll always love you!"

Then, Dragon leans in for a kiss and Bloodstone tries to reassure herself that everything is still right in their small world.

* * *

Word of the war reaches them swiftly. A Diamond is dead. A colony is in ruins. A quartz soldier not unlike them has started a rebellion, in what, unknown to them at the time, will come to be known simply as the War.

There were other wars, of course. Dragon and Bloodstone were both seasoned veterans, after all. But, none had ever been as lethal as this. None had ever culminated in the death of a Diamond.

Homeworld is in mourning, but it must move quickly if it hopes to recover the colony and its invaluable resources from the hungry hands of the rebellion. All the best soldiers are called in and assembled into teams, then loaded like doomed cattle onto the ships that will take them to the place called earth.

Dragon looms over Bloodstone on the ship. Red is cramped tightly between them. There are so many soldiers crowded into each unit that all of them have to stand, shoulder-to-shoulder, some hugging, some nervously chatting, some exchanging anxious looks. All of them are uncharacteristically scared, because a war that can kill a Diamond can most certainly kill a few thousand quartzes.

She puts an arm around her. "Bloodstone..."

"Yes, Dragon?"

"This is it. This is the last time I'll ever see you."

Bloodstone looks at her incredulously. "What are you talking about?"

"Bloody, they're separating us," Dragon breaks the news, "They're sending you away to fight on the field. You're a fine general, Bloody. I don't doubt that you'll be just fine. But, me? I'm old, Bloody. I'm so, so old. I'm not a fine soldier like you anymore. I'm hardly of use to them at all."

Bloodstone is shocked. She had been under the impression that the two of them would be stationed together, to fight alongside each other, to have each other's backs. Suddenly, her dread for what is soon to come doubles, triples, grows infinitely larger than it had been a moment before.

"I know," Dragon whispers as she sees the sadness on her mate's face, "I know, Bloody."

"Where are you going, then?" Bloodstone demands. She huddles a little closer to her, seeking solace in her familiar warmth as she seemingly always had. It's only been a thousand years, but it feels like she's been with Dragon forever. To be without her, even for a little while, is a miserable idea.

"To Yellow Diamond's court," Dragon tells her, "They're setting me up as a private guard."

Bloodstone listens in dismay, presses her face close to her mate's chest, and tries to take comfort in the fact that the position is fairly safe. "We'll...see each other after the war," she whispers optimistically, "We'll be together again, you'll see. This isn't goodbye. Not forever."

Dragon looks at her with eyes gone hollow with dread. "When this is all over, Bloody, they're going to shatter me."

Bloodstone looks at her, shocked. "What?"

"You should've seen it coming, sweetheart. You of all gems should've known. I'm old and I'm outdated and I'm past my expiration date. And I've been outshone by younger, newer, better models like you."

It sounds like an accusation. The ship stutters to a stop as it descends, after tireless days of travel, onto the surface of the earth, the automated doors slowly sliding ajar and freeing the cramped quarters within, soldiers stampeding out into the open to assemble into squadrons and platoons before they're sent off to their intended destinations. Bloodstone will be leading one of them. Dragon will not.

"Oh, Bloody, they're going to shatter me," Dragon says as she steps down from the ship, then reaches behind her to seize Bloodstone's waist and hoist her down, setting her down as lightly as she might if they were young again and still courting, "I might have been one of their great generals once, but they're long since forgotten who I am. All those stories you heard about me, the things that made you idolize me, all of those will be washed away without a trace. Might as well have been written in the sand. And when I'm gone, nobody will remember me."

Dragon sees the other soldiers, all as old and outdated as herself, who will be sent to serve as private guards gathering nearby. She turns towards them, her back to Bloodstone.

Bloodstone whimpers. Dragon loves her. She loves her with all her heart and then some, loves her more than she ever intended to. It had been meant to be a hot fling, with someone Dragon could call for sex and impregnate with her quartz offspring. But, it had become so much more. Now, she knows that Bloodstone won't walk away easily. Bloodstone will keep on loving her, even when she's doomed to death as soon as this war is over, as deemed fit by the Diamonds themselves.

It isn't what she wants for the young quartz. She wants Bloodstone to move on and find someone new, someone better than her, someone with whom she can have the proud heirs that Dragon always wanted. No one will remember her, no one will tell her story, but maybe someone will tell Bloodstone's.

But, Dragon knows Bloodstone won't move on unless she's motivated. She knows what she has to do - and it hurts her to even think it, much less say it.

"I wanted an heir, you know," Dragon rumbles, choking up for the first time in her long life on what she thinks must be tears, "I wanted someone to remember me, to tell my story. But, your sorry ass couldn't even get pregnant!"

Bloodstone is shocked. The tears welling up in her eyes start to fall before she can catch them. "Drag, I...I'm sorry..."

Dragon steels herself, forces the ice into her brittle voice even as it cracks, and says, "We're done, Bloodstone. Goodbye."

She starts to leave. Bloodstone seizes her hand and whirls her around, screaming, "So, you're just going to walk away from me now?! After all we've been through together, Drag! After everything!"

Dragon won't look at her. "I don't love you anymore."

Bloodstone curls in on herself, clutching feebly at her chest as the sobs tear free from her throat. "I don't believe you! I don't believe you, I don't believe you..."

Dragon looks at Red. The pearl, unfortunately dragged along for the ungodly affair, looks back solemnly. She understands. "You belong to her now, Red. Thank you for being good to me all this time. Goodbye."

And Dragon goes like a ghost in the night, leaving Bloodstone sobbing and clutching desperately at the glinting medal around her chest, wrought by a pain worse than war.

* * *

War is even worse than Bloodstone remembers.

Perhaps it's because that, for once, the odds are not stacked in Homeworld's favor. It makes no sense, she thinks as she stares at the tattered charts tacked lopsidedly to the base walls, flanked closely by her second-in-command, Commander Carnelian - the same carnelian who had, a thousand years ago, warned her about Dragon. She should have listened.

"We outnumber them two thousand to one," Carnelian grumbles, "This should have been over months ago!"

Solemnly, Bloodstone nods. "I agree."

"It's the rose quartz!" Carnelian tells her what she already knows, has already known for months now, "Who in the Diamonds' names thought it was a good idea to equip a quartz with healing capabilities, anyways? Their entire design screams backfire."

"It's because the rose quartzes weren't meant to serve as soldiers like you and me," Bloodstone reminds her as she takes one more glance at the tattered old charts, primitive maps of the earth stolen from human villages now burned to the ground and smoldering away into nothingness. They're quite old; she doesn't even know if they're entirely accurate.

Sighing, Bloodstone turns away from the maps, reaching reflexively for the glinting, golden medal she still wears around her neck. As her fingers trace the familiar shapes embellished in the smooth, hard surface, she thinks about Dragon. She misses her. Misses her everyday. Hates her, but somehow still loves her, too.

Red looks at her worriedly from where she stands between them, always a shadow at Bloodstone's side, forever frightened of the other soldiers and all the sights and sounds of war. She isn't meant to live like this. Bloodstone wishes Dragon hadn't brought her.

"Carnelian," she says as she turns away, "Come with me. You and I are going to the Prime Kindergarten to harvest the new soldiers."

She swallows a lump forming in her throat as she starts for the door, Red following closely behind her. Carnelian follows her out obediently. She's a good commander.

"We're going to need them."

* * *

Harvesting the new soldiers from the Prime Kindergarten should have been as invigorating for General Bloodstone as it was for Commander Carnelian and their troops, thinned walls of stone smashed away as young, new amethysts and agates burst free from the canyon. The defects here are few and far between, the majority of the young quartzes emerging flawless and healthy, strong and stubborn and everything a proper soldier should be. Bloodstone doesn't doubt that they're going to make fine troops.

She watches as Carnelian lines them up, recites their designations, all series of numbers and letters that she's carefully kept up with, and asks them to summon their weapons. All of them do it on their first try. Perfect soldiers, she thinks again. Soldiers who will serve them well in the hard months to come. But, it's a shame that they've emerged under such harsh circumstances, never to enjoy even a moment to themselves before they're shouldered mercilessly onto the battlefield, to fend for themselves from day one.

Bloodstone can't help but notice that Carnelian takes special interest in one of the amethysts.

As the next month passes them by, with little more than minor skirmishes with the rebel soldiers, whose bases are proving cloyingly hard to locate, Bloodstone sees Carnelian with the amethyst more and more often. Carnelian calls her Amy, differentiating her from the hundreds of others who are nearly exactly like her, who she addresses strictly by their designations as she works hard to train them before the next major conflict. Often, Bloodstone sees them walking alongside each other, chatting pleasantly, as if there isn't a war on, as if their lives and hers aren't all treacherously at stake.

Sometimes, Carnelian moseys by with a smile on her face, a cheerful whistle springing free from her lips, and that dazed, dumb look in her yellow eyes. Bloodstone knows precisely what it is because, not so long ago, she had that same look in her own eyes whenever she saw Dragon. Now, her name fills her mouth with bile.

She looks at Carnelian piteously as the young quartz passes her by.

The poor kid is as doomed as she was.

* * *

Something is wrong.

It's a bit of an understatement. Everything is wrong, has been wrong ever since news reached Bloodstone on Homeworld that Pink Diamond had been shattered. Nothing is ever truly right when there's a war, even for a gem engineered exclusively for such violent conflicts.  
Bloodstone stares into the reflective surface of the metal wall, somewhere inside the base. Around her, there are scattered filing cabinets, an old desk with scuffed corners, and many maps tacked to the walls. She's alone, except for Red, who watches her dutifully from her station beside the door.

It's been about six months since Bloodstone and her troops arrived on the earth. She thinks that sounds like too long, until she remembers how long it takes in quartzes.

Carnelian comes into the room, to share the news that one of their patrols sighted Crystal Gem soldiers on the northern border, along the rocky ridge that overlooks their camp. Amy is close behind her, as she always is, but both of them freeze as soon as they're inside the room, where Bloodstone stands beside the far wall with a sizable hole phased in the spandex of her uniform around her abdomen, once flat and chiseled, now sloping slightly outwards in what can only be...

"You're pregnant," Carnelian whispers.

Bloodstone's uniform reappears in a sizzle of white light, her expression one of ghastly terror as she looks at the unexpected intruders, wide-eyed. "No..."

Carnelian steps towards her, extends a hand to touch her shoulder. "Bloodstone..."

It's an unspeakable misfortune, to discover that, after so many years of quietly trying and always failing, she has become pregnant at the worst of times. A baby born into the war would surely perish quickly.

Carnelian, Amy, and Red all touch her shoulders and rub down the length of her arms soothingly as Bloodstone leans into the reflective, metal wall, closes her eyes, and starts to sob.

* * *

When Bloodstone and Red return to their shared tent, Bloodstone retreats to her cot and lies down, sniveling pitifully, much more like the pearl who stands hard-faced and stoic over her, massaging the small of her back soothingly as she cries, than the proud quartz soldier she's supposed to be.

"Mistress," Red tells her, "we should send for Mistress Dragon. She would want to know."

"Why would she care, Red?" Dragon sniffles, chin rested on her folded arms. She shifts onto her side, reminding herself that laying on her stomach is bad for the baby. Or babies. There could be more than one; it isn't uncommon in quartz clutches.

"Mistress Dragon didn't mean what she said. You know that."

"I don't know what I know anymore," Bloodstone whimpers. Red sighs, then fetches a pen and paper and sits down, beginning to write. She's fortunate that it's a skill she's even allowed to possess; Dragon taught her long ago, in the peaceful quiet of their home.  
"I'm sending for her," Red informs her. It isn't a question, a request for permission. It's a statement. "Where should I tell her to meet us?"

Bloodstone's back is to her. Red can't see that her hand is clutched tightly around the medal she still wears around her neck, for reasons unknown and yet glaringly obvious. "I don't care. Just write something and tell me where it is when you're done, since you know so much."

Red tries to not take offense. She knows that Bloodstone is under so much stress, and in phenomenal pain from the unexpected discovery of her unfortunate pregnancy. So, she chooses somewhere, writes it down, signs and seals the letter. Then, she exits the tent, to find the messenger who will run to the nearest warp pad, to deliver her letter to Dragon. After she's delivered the letter, Red starts back towards the tent. It's far removed from the others, because Bloodstone wants her privacy. She often cries in the night, pining for everything she's lost, and she doesn't want her soldiers to hear, in fear that they'll lose their respect for her.

Unfortunately, this means a venture through the overgrown grass that grows among the tents, across a small field some distance from the more solidly structured base. Red has never had reason to fear this venture; there are no earth animals this close to the tent and, even if there were, none of them would be a threat to her. Any Crystal Gem soldier who came this near would be spotted quickly, too.

So, it comes as some surprise to her when, from somewhere within the towering stalks, nearly as tall as she is, she hears a long, low growl.

Red stops. "Hello?"

More growling. Guttural snarling. Not a noise that an earth animal would make.

"Mistress Bloodstone?" Red calls into the field, but she already knows what it is.

Bloodstone is on her feet in an instance when she hears the screams. She bounds across the field to where she can see the overgrown grass swaying with signs of a struggle, trembling and rattling as something concealed within it drags Red to her doom, the pearl's screams closely followed by a sound like shattering glass.

Bloodstone is too late.

She arrives in time to see the carnage that remains of her poor, poor pearl. The grass is crushed in a wide semicircle, around the place where the earth is stained brilliant red with freshly spilled blood, still sticky and fresh. Glinting shards of smooth, red gem shine softly in the evening's dying light, as the fossil retreats into the towering grass.

Fossils. Bloodstone had been suspicious about them from the start. As with the rose quartzes who had turned on their own Diamond, Homeworld had engineered fossils for purposes that spelled misfortune from the very beginning. Fossils were Homeworld's solution to the Rebellion, gems with the feral instincts of an animal that were cheap and quick to produce, easily trainable but never controllable.

Bloodstone had been there when the fossils first went to shit. Initially, the fossils had seemed safe, charming companions for quartz soldiers, including those in her camp, that could detect the scent of an enemy soldier from thirty miles away, that could decimate intruders within moments of them crossing their borders, that could crush entire gems between their powerful, murderous jaws with teeth serrated like steak knives. When the fossils had first been distributed, Bloodstone had been impressed with them, with their keen senses and uncanny ability to move swiftly on all fours and the frightening strength of their jaws. Her soldiers had loved them; the fossils were excellent companions in combat, guarding their quartzes from harm, alerting them to approaching attacks even in tall grass or hazy fog where visibility was slim. And so long as the soldiers were kind to them, the fossils seemed to love them, too.

Of course, there were soldiers who were less than kind to their fossils, and Bloodstone suspects that is what led to Fossil #7413. Each one came with its own number, embellished in an electrified collar that was permanently worn around their necks. One of her finest soldiers had been assigned Fossil #7413, an alpha fossil who could, much like Bloodstone with her troops, control the others seamlessly. She was their leader, bigger and stronger and smarter. And she was perfectly loyal to her quartz, at least in the beginning.

Bloodstone had caught the young quartz whipping Fossil #7413 on multiple occasions. When she asked why, the quartz always had some shoddy excuse; she was misbehaving, she was hurting the other fossils, she was baring her teeth when she shouldn't have been. Bloodstone had seen the fear in that poor thing's face, seen how she recoiled whenever her master lifted a hand, seen how she tucked herself down low if someone nearby yelled. She should have rescued her when she had the chance, revoked her from the young quartz and taken her somewhere safe. Instead, she had ignored the signs, until the moment when she heard the screams and rushed down the hillside to see the quartz being mauled to death in Fossil #7413's mighty jaws.

There had been a crazed look in that fossil's eyes, her pupils constricted to tiny pinpricks like those of a mad man. Bloodstone knew in that moment, as she rushed towards her with a weapon drawn, that Fossil #7413 was broken.

But, the fossil had avoided her blow, leaving the quartz's shards scattered in her wake as she stole away into the night, vanishing quietly into the unknown. Since then, Bloodstone had seen her a dozen times, lingering quietly - threateningly - on the borders of her campsites, her crazy eyes glinting golden in the evening light. Sometimes, there were other fossils with her.

Soldiers have been going missing on patrols for weeks now. Bloodstone knows what's happening to them.

And now Red has met the same fate, she laments as she kneels down, with great big tears brimming in her great big eyes, and gathers the tiny pieces that remain of her into her hands. She makes sure she has them all, then finds a glass jar to put them in, adding to it little wildflowers and smooth, flat stones from the nearby stream. Once she's sealed the container, she finds a strip of fabric, printed with a pretty pattern, and ties it around it as neatly as she can with her trembling fingers. Then, she retreats to her tent with it clutched close to her chest and tears in her eyes and a great, great emptiness in her heart.

Red is dead. One of her final ties to Dragon, second only to the geode currently incubating within her womb, has come to die with their relationship. And Bloodstone has no idea what location Red chose for Dragon to meet them. It could be anywhere.

Assuming Dragon wants to come to them at all.

* * *

Yellow Diamond's Palanquin looms over her court with as much of an authoritative presence as she herself does, commanding respect over the scattered citizens below. Aristocrats have gathered here, sapphires anxiously awaiting their turns to foretell the outcomes of conflicts soon to come, none of them positive.

A short flight of stairs covered with carpet leads up to the entrance of the Palanquin. On one side of these stairs, Dragon Blood Jasper stands, across from another ancient quartz too old and outdated to be deemed fit for the battlefield. But, with the way things are going recently, Dragon doesn't doubt that they, too, will soon be in the heat of battle. While the Prime Kindergarten had cultivated fine soldiers, the Beta Kindergarten was a monumental failure, producing only one perfect jasper and a hundred others who were useless defects. It wasn't enough; more warm bodies would soon be needed on the war front.

Perhaps Dragon will be charged with her own platoon to become a renowned leader once more. Or perhaps she'll be placed in the command of a younger, newer quartz, as nothing more than a common soldier.

For once, she hopes for the latter.

Suddenly, a messenger approaches her, a lapis lazuli lighting on the carpet pathway before her, watery wings spread and glistening wetly in the afternoon sunlight. Dragon salutes her because she's an aristocrat; several years prior, she would have declined to salute any gem less than a Diamond. The messenger nods to her, passes her a sealed letter, then walks away with a fabric satchel hanging heavily around her shoulders, filled with other messages to be delivered.

Dragon watches her leave, then looks back at the envelope between her fingers. A letter? From who?

She opens it.

It's from Red.

Dragon scans the familiar, cursive script, her eyes growing wider and wider with every word she reads. Then, with the letter clutched in one hand, she turns and barrels up the stairs, shoving past quartz guards and a visiting aristocrat to push aside the curtain that conceals Yellow Diamond's throne, where she falls to her knees so quickly that she practically skids to a halt. She salutes her only as an afterthought, her red irises and dark sclera filled with a miserable plea.

"My Diamond, please, my mate is pregnant! I have to go to her!" 

Yellow Diamond is livid. Dragon has abandoned her station - at the base of the stairs, where she belongs - and all but tossed a sapphire aside in her rush to reach her, without permission, no less. From where she stands beside the throne, Yellow Diamond's Pearl sneers with distaste, reflecting her mistress' feelings.

"You have some nerve," Yellow Diamond's voice chills the warm, summer afternoon. She's in a sour mood; the sapphires who have visited her today have given her nothing but bad news, and many of their broken shards lay scattered down the stairs leading up to her towering throne.

"I...I apologize, My Diamond," Dragon says, frozen in her salute as she stares up at her pleadingly, "You understand, don't you, My Diamond? My mate is pregnant, I have to - "

"You have to stay here and guard me, like all the other worthless outdates who are of no other use to me."

"My Diamond, the child..."

"You should have thought about that before you resorted to manual reproduction," Yellow Diamond tells her with a disgusted sneer. She says the two words with enormous contempt. How dare a quartz so unfit for breeding reproduce without her express permission. How dare any gem reproduce so uncleanly when revolutions like the Kindergartens were available to them now. "You are dismissed. Return to your post, before I have second thoughts about letting you live."

Dragon holds her head low as she rises from where she kneels, shoulders slumping miserably. Bloodstone is out there in the war zone, alone and afraid, pregnant with a child she's responsible for, and there's nothing she can do to protect her.

As she starts to leave, she can feel the Diamond's golden glare boring into the back of her skull, until she finally speaks, "You disappoint me, Dragon Blood Jasper. You were once one of my finest soldiers. And then you went and fell in love, and look at what it's done to you. You are pathetic. You are weak."

Dragon's hands clench into fists. She whirls around, the chamber flooded with the stench of noxious fumes as the gas begins to fill her mouth. "Love doesn't make a gem weak! Love makes a gem strong! But, what would you know about that, My Diamond? You've never loved someone in all your life, have you?"

Dragon sees how her brow tweaks, how the corners of her lips twitch. She glares at her knowingly, fearlessly. "But, you did love someone, didn't you? My Bloodstone and our child won't be the only victims of this war. You were in love with Pink Diamond, and she's as dead as my family will be because you're too selfish to let me go!"  
Yellow Diamond rises from her throne. She towers over even the enormous Dragon, so tall that her hair almost brushes the pointed ceiling of the Palanquin. Her Pearl retreats behind the throne, taking shelter. "How dare you..."

"So, I'll tell you what I'm going to do! I'm going to leave this fucking place! I'm going to go out there and find my mate, and I'm going to take her and waltz right into rebel territory, and then I'm going to tell that damned Rose Quartz thank you for giving you everything you fucking deserve!"

Gem shards shine brightly in the afternoon sunshine, strewn down the stairs that lead into Yellow Diamond's Palanquin, a glittering rainbow of colors. Most of them are the shards of sapphires, gems who brought bad news and were fatally punished for it.

But, some of them are Dragon's.

* * *

Bloodstone sees the messenger when she returns to the campsite and asks about the letter. The lapis lazuli reassures her that it was delivered, but has nothing for her in return. So, she waits.

She waits and waits and waits.

The time comes to move camps, to avoid detection from the rebels - and to avoid the growing population of fossils who are creeping in on them from the overgrown grass, dragging quartzes to their doom, tormenting pearls who stray too far from their masters. Bloodstone leads them. Carnelian and Amy follow her closely, keeping an even closer eye on her now that Red isn't around to do so. Everywhere she goes, Bloodstone carries the glass jar that holds her beloved servant's remains, and she wears Dragon's medal.

One night, she sits in her tent, all alone now, and fondles the smooth, metal coin. She remembers the evening when Dragon gave it to her. What had she said.

For your bravery. For your brutality.

For her brutality. Dragon always admired that in her. Bloodstone was as wild as she was, big and burly and strong and untamed like an animal. Dragon had admired her tactics, respected her as a fellow officer. But, over the years, Bloodstone had grown soft. Dragon made her feel soft. Love made her feel soft.

Perhaps the reason Dragon had left her was because she was too soft. Perhaps Dragon wanted to see that brutality surging up in her once more. Perhaps Dragon needed a reminder that she was the Great General Bloodstone, a force to be reckoned with, a soldier like no other. If Dragon saw that in her once more, perhaps she would return. Perhaps Bloodstone wouldn't be alone anymore, left to raise their child alone on the war-stricken earth.

If it's even a vague possibility, Bloodstone is willing to try it.

And so she becomes hostile and harsh. Her platoon cowers when she speaks, afraid of the uncanny wrath she's unleashed on them recently. Even Carnelian avoids her, keeping away with Amy to accompany her instead. Bloodstone laughs in her face when she sees them together, tells them that love will break them, too, the way it broke her.

Tormenting her troops is a start, but it isn't the degree of ferocity that Dragon would have wanted. So, Bloodstone relinquishes them from her iron hold to unleash her fury elsewhere.

The fossils are an easy target. She waits for them to creep into the camp at night, then chases them back into the trees, where they slip away into the shadows. They're as stupid as she hopes, fleeing straight back to their dens, spacious burrows dug deep underground where the quartzes cannot find them. But, Bloodstone doesn't stop there. She finds a shovel, or uses her bare hands, and claws the entrances to their dens open, dragging them screaming and yelping from their safe little sanctuaries and ripping them apart. Sometimes, she cracks their skulls on trees. Sometimes, she breaks their bones. Sometimes, she just shatters them and stomps their shards into the ground, then leaves.

One night, Bloodstone follows two fossils back to their dens, watching them steal away into their oversized burrows. She's about to unearth them, when golden eyes glinting in the darkness catch her eye. She looks up.

It's Fossil #7413.

Fossil #7413 stares back at her, threatening her silently. Then, her chapped lips draw back over her sick, serrated fangs and she snarls, warning her to leave. Bloodstone doesn't doubt that she's a force to be reckoned with; she's lost a hundred soldiers to her specifically by now, catching only glimpses of her as she flees in the aftermath of her carnage. She's smarter than the other ones. She's clever.

It's time for the deaths of her soldiers at the claws of Fossil #7413 to stop. She steps towards her, summoning her weapon into existence. The fossil snarls at her, teeth glinting wickedly in the moonlight, but reluctantly backs away. Then, suddenly, she charges towards Bloodstone, who deflects her with a swift blow of her mace to her backside, the weapon's thick spikes driving deeply into the flesh and sending her sprawling nearby, yelping painfully.

Bloodstone raises her mace over her head. She's about to deal the fatal blow when she sees the fossil glancing worriedly at something over her shoulder. Cautiously, she turns around.

And sees the entrance to a little den, where three little fossil cubs sit and watch them.

Bloodstone smiles wickedly as she starts towards them. Dragon would love this.

Fossil #7413 flees into the watchful silence of the night with tears brimming in her golden eyes. Behind her, she hears the little cries and the crunch of bone. She gets away, but Bloodstone takes from her something greater than her life, both her three little cubs and her pride.

She will have her revenge.

Oh, she will have her revenge.

* * *

Bloodstone could have continued forever with her carnage and cruelty, until she realizes that not even that will bring Dragon back.

She's in her tent, alone and afraid, clutching gently at the medal hanging limply around her neck, when the first tremors of labor hit. For three hours, she pushes and strains, cries out angrily and painfully into the night. Finally, her single, green geode arrives and, heaving and panting, she envelopes it in the warmth of a blanket and holds it as close as she can without harming it. It's a bloodstone, she infers from the smooth, shiny, green shell, with its smattering of red.

Carnelian and Amy come to check on her. Proudly, she shows them her single geode, which she wears in a fabric sling across her chest, covering up the medal, when she ventures into the camp next day. Strangely, she feels better. The egg's arrival has given her something new to appreciate and enjoy, something to focus on besides how miserable she feels, and she lightens up on her soldiers. Cautiously, they begin to trust her once more.

Quartz geodes incubate internally for months, nearly as long as a human infant would. But, once they've been laid, it isn't long until the hard shell cracks away, giving way to a tiny new life. So, within the month, the moment comes.

Bloodstone is seated in the middle of the campsite, her soldiers huddled around her, everyone watching with baited breath as the geode wriggles and rocks in its blanket nest. The egg trembles for what feels like forever, until it suddenly tumbles onto its side and smashes into a dozen shining pieces.

From the rumble, there's a small sound. Bloodstone reaches down and slowly, carefully brushes the shells away.

Tiny eyes blink back at her. She gazes into the round little face of a miniature twin of herself, a newborn bloodstone. A smile so wide it stretches cheek-to-cheek spreads across her face as she scoops the little one out of its nest, bringing it in close to her chest. It's soft and warm and full of life.

Bloodstone thought that she could never leave something as immensely as she loved Dragon. Now, she knows that that isn't true, because she loves the baby in her arms a hundred times more than she ever loved Dragon.

A pearl whose owner was shattered in the most recent conflict volunteers to help her watch over the newborn. Bloodstone leaves her child alone with the pearl only when she must, when there are enemy soldiers or fossils to be fended off and it's safer for the cub to be in the tent than it is with her.  
One night, as Bloodstone slumbers with her cub curled underneath her chin, bundled in the warmth of its favorite blanket, she awakens to a blood-curdling scream. She sits upright immediately, disturbing the gemling, who startles awake with a whimper. "Shh...," Bloodstone whispers as she holds her close, cradling her briefly and pressing the tenderest of kisses to her tiny, wrinkled forehead before she passes her to the pearl, who takes her gently.

Bloodstone glances back at them guiltily, worriedly, as she leaves the tent.

She enters into a scene of brutality and carnage, slipping on a puddle of blood as she rushes into the foray of her frightened soldiers fending off the feral fossils that have invaded their camp. One of them whimpers and cries on the ground nearby as her shape-shifted intestines are ripped from her side, forcing her into the false haven of her gem. Bloodstone sends the fossil flying with a swift kick moments before it can seize and shatter the gemstone, which she scoops up and tucks into her pocket for safekeeping.

The air is thick with the stench of blood, which mars the freshly fallen snow with brilliant red. Screams echo across the mountain pass as quartz soldiers fall victim to the fossils, dragged to their demises and shattered in the jaws of the very gems meant to protect them.

When the fossils are finally gone, the death toll is high. Bloodstone walks around the campsite and tries to count the shards, but with them in so many pieces, it's hard to even identify who might have died.

She hears a wail behind her, a familiar voice going up into the cold, mountain air. It's Carnelian.

Bloodstone approaches her from behind. Carnelian is on her knees in the half-melted slush and, over her shoulders, Bloodstone sees what has brought on her cries of such despair. Between her fingers, she holds the broken bits and pieces of an amethyst gemstone.

It's Amy.

Bloodstone touches her shoulder. She tries to say something, can't find the words. There are no words. She's trying again to find them when she hears the scream.

It comes from the place where she's staked her tent. She hears a sound like shattering glass, rushes towards the tent, and arrives far too late. The poor pearl is in pieces on blankets and bedding now sodden with hot, fresh blood.

Among the crisp, white pearl shards, there are miniscule pieces of another gem, as well. Dark green, flecked only very slightly with red.

Bloodstone's cries echo across the campsite for days to come. She wails and she wails, but it won't bring her baby back.

Fossil #7413 got her revenge.

* * *

Elsewhere, Fossil #7413 flees into the trees until she's certain that no one has followed her. From her mouth, a squirming, whimpering bundle dangles, swatting at her irritably as it's buffeted in the cold wind as she runs from the campsite.

It had been such a clever trick. Fossil #7413 is impressed with her own intelligence as she sits back on her haunches and lowers the bundle down between her forearms, panting tiredly as she pauses briefly to rest, thinking pridefully about what she did.

The green quartz that she had been eying warily from afar for weeks had been the perfect substitute for the Evil Quartz's cub. The moment the fossils descended on the camp, Fossil #7413 had sought the green quartz out, shattering her swiftly, then gathering up her broken shards in her mouth, careful not to swallow any, and taking them to the tent that smelled of the Evil Quartz. Inside, there was a pearl, who swatted her hard in the head and did what she could to fend her off. Fossil #7413 had killed her, scattered the green quartz's shards, and taken the baby before the Evil Quartz could reach her.

Now, the squirmy little thing is crying and complaining between her forearms. It wants its mother.

Fossil #7413 leans down and licks its tears away, then lifts it into her mouth delicately once more, carrying it away into the sparse woods of the tundra. There, she finds the burrow where her own cubs are eagerly awaiting her return, jumping and yipping and licking at her as she descends into their den.

There, she lies down and lets her cubs - three new cubs, born sometime after the Evil Quartz maliciously destroyed her last ones - burrow into the familiar warmth of her side. Then, smiling softly, she places the baby bloodstone carefully among them.

* * *

When Carnelian comes to check on her, Bloodstone is as much of a mess as she expects. She's left the tent only to remove the bloodied bedding and bury the pearl's shards. Her unfortunate infant's shards, she adds to the glass jar that houses the remains of her own pearl.

She can't bring herself to throw away her baby's favorite blanket. She tried to rinse the blood off of it in the nearby stream, half-frozen in the cold of winter, but a few dark stains remain. Still, she clutches it to her chest, uses it to dry her tears when she has the energy to cry more. For now, her eyes have run dry, puffy and swollen and red.

"I'm sorry," Carnelian whispers into the stillness inside the tent as she sits down.

"I'm sorry, too," Bloodstone whispers back, in reference to Amy.

A baby cries. Bloodstone sits straight up, surprised.  
Carnelian is cradling a gemling. It's a pathetically tiny thing, so small that Carnelian could probably hold it in a single palm. When its round face peers out from the blanket folds, Bloodstone sees that it's a pearl. A champagne pearl, she thinks, based on its smooth, cream coloration and feathery, pinkish tuft of hair.

"What is...?" Bloodstone starts.

Carnelian interrupts her with the answer, "I went after them. The fossils who killed Amy. I found them in the mountain pass, and I killed them. All of them." She exhales unsteadily, tears brimming in her own eyes at the mentions of her fallen mate, who she will never see again. "I found her on the way back. She was all alone, Bloody. Out there in the snow. I think the fossils got her mother."

Bloodstone stares at the infant. "And now what? You're going to keep her?"

"Yes," Carnelian tells her, "I was going to give her away to one of the pearls. But...I feel like she's safer with me."

Bloodstone frowns. It's a reference to her own dead cub, left alone in the care of a pearl while she was away. But, she can't blame Carnelian for learning from her mistakes and wanting to protect the tiny pearl.

From its blanket bundle, the little thing smiles as Carnelian tickles its nose. Bloodstone looks away, feeling fresh tears rising in her eyes. The champagne pearl will help Carnelian cope with her immense pain.

There's nothing left to help her with hers.

* * *

The war comes to a close. Homeworld loses.

Bloodstone survives. She wishes she hadn't.

When Bloodstone returns to Homeworld, she doesn't dare to return to the private quarters upstairs that she once shared with Dragon Blood Jasper. Instead, she retreats downstairs, where she seeks solace in the companionship of other quartzes, only to find herself feeling mind-numbingly lonely. Downtrodden, she retreats the only other place she knows: the arena. Once a grand training facility, it now seems tired and old and worn, the way she feels. The soldiers she trained here are mostly dead now, victims of the war. Those who survived might not even remember her.

Bloodstone sinks into her captain's chair and reaches for the medal around her neck.

Dragon should vist at least once, Bloodstone thinks. She didn't know what became of their cub, after all, and Bloodstone likes to think that Dragon would have at least wanted to meet the heir she finally had. But, Dragon never comes. Bloodstone doesn't know that she's dead. She imagines that she's upstairs somewhere, living quietly in the lap of luxury, enjoying companionship from her newly assigned pearl and some new sweetheart.

The thought is too much for Bloodstone to bear. She lurches to her feet, tears the medal from around her neck, and clutches it angrily in her first, tears brimming in her eyes as she pitches it away into the shadows of the slumbering arena.

To no one in particular, she shouts, "I hate you, Drag! You hear me? I hate you!"

Perhaps it had never been about love for Dragon and Bloodstone. Perhaps it had been about the heir, about the sex, about anything but love, Bloodstone tries to convince herself as she curls into a tight ball on the floor of the abandoned arena, her sobs echoing hollowly through the empty chamber. Perhaps love was not a real thing that existed, a myth passed down through the generations only to give them hope. As she lies there and cries, Bloodstone certainly doesn't feel that love could ever be real.

No, it was never about love, she tells herself through heavy tears. 

It was only ever about the visceral appeal.


End file.
